Page 55 of Man Advantage

Unfortunately, one of Chicago’s forwards knocked him off the puck, and suddenly all the action was heading to our end.

Spaulding, our veteran defenseman, wasn’t able to get the puck away, but he did slow him down enough that one of the other forwards crossed into the zone first. The whistle blew—offside.

We seized the opportunity for a line change before the offensive zone faceoff, and?—

“Don’t worry, Trev.” A smirking Chats smacked my arm as we passed each other. “You know I can always pick up wherever you leave off.”

The impulse to roar with fury and snap my stick over my thigh (or his stupid head) almost got the best of me, but I just mentally cursed him out before taking my spot on the bench.

Son of a bitch. He’s going to do it during games now? Really?

Yeah. Really. Because he was that kind of petty, immature jackass.

I wanted to say I got over it by the time I went out for my next shift. I wanted to say I shook it off and refocused on the game. I wanted to say I didn’t let him fuck with my game.

Iwantedto, but that would be a lie.

“Son of a bitch!” I shouted when my shot went miles wide. Before the words had even finished leaving my mouth, a Chicago player had the puck and passed it to another.

One who’d managed to get behind usandbehind our D.

The crowd roared as he flew up the ice. Petrovich shifted left and right in the net, blocker and paddle ready as he anticipated where the shot might come in.

The player wound back, and Petrovich rose up to anticipate a top-shelf attempt… leaving his five-hole open for the dagger of a shot.

The red light came on. The goal song was barely audible over the ecstatic crowd.

I groaned and muttered a few curses as I watched the Chicago players skating by their bench for fist bumps. One sloppy shot on my part, and now we were down by one.

Way to go, Trev. Way to fuck your whole team because your head’s not in the game.

I dropped onto the bench and took a swig of water. My anger drained away in favor of just feeling like shit. I’d let my teamdown. Yeah, it was only one goal, and we were only halfway through the first period, but it was never fun to have to dig ourselves out of a hole. Knowing my stupidity had put us in that hole… ugh.

A hand landed on my padded shoulder, and I turned my head as Coach leaned down beside me. “You here tonight, Trev?”

My face burned, and I nodded. “Yeah, Coach. I’m good.”

He studied me skeptically. Then he nodded, gave my shoulder a smack, and stood again to watch the action on the ice.

I needed to be here. I needed to get my head together.

Against my better judgment, I found Chats on the ice. He was fixated on a puck battle, jostling with an opposing defenseman while he waited for someone to get the puck free and pass it to him.

I gnawed furiously on my mouthguard. Why was I letting him under my skin? Why was I letting him fuck up my game?

Ugh. My kids are watching. The Pittsburgh Rebels fanbase is watching.

Ignore him and get it together. Fuck.

I told myself all that and more. Over and over and fucking over.

Can’t say it really helped, though.

CHAPTER 18

CAM

Sittingon the couch in Pittsburgh Rebels pajamas, Zane furrowed his brow at the TV. “Dad’s having a bad night.”

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